


endless

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Memories, Nostalgia, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Second Person, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17377301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: You want him to remember all the things that haven't changed.





	endless

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill the 'second person narration' square on my Trope Bingo Card for Round 12.

You thought it always would be like this: endless days, spent with him, the sprawling summer afternoons and the quiet, cold winter nights in New York City. You can still taste them, right? They taste like--

\-- _his mouth, his skin, that soft, warm spot right behind his left ear, the one you'd kiss just to hear his low, sweet sigh_ \--

\--yeah, just like that, and you remember _all_ of it. 

Those memories are such fine-pointed moments amidst the haze of ice and sleep and pain; seventy years and still, the taste of his mouth and the scent of his skin, winter-warm beneath the blankets. 

"Is it the same?" he asks one mid-winter night, and his lashes drop to brush dark-gold against the question. 

You rest the back of your hand against his cheek to feel the warmth of his skin, to touch him and tell him, before you say anything, that it's always the same between the two of you. 

The world could turn itself inside out and he would still sit here next to you on the bed, his eyes the same blue as the summer sky; you'd touch the side of his face before leaning in to kiss him and smile into the the taste of his mouth. 

"Yes," you say, and you mean it more than you've ever meant anything, because all the other words you want to say are inherent in that one syllable. 

You want to tell him you remembered him until the end, when there was nothing left of yourself to remember there were these sharp, clear points of memory and so many of them were him. His voice and the feel of his skin beneath the tips of your fingers and the feel of your own body against his, so well-worn and familiar, that you almost cried when you realized for the first time. 

So you say _yes_ and touch his face, press your mouth against his and smile, kiss him again and slide your hand to rest at the back of his neck, just to hold him close enough to feel him breathe against your lips as he pulls away. When you kiss him again, you catch his breath at the back of your throat, the rough sigh that echoes from deep in his chest, and makes you kiss him harder, longer. 

You want him to remember all the things that haven't changed. 

You want him to remember his body, draped over yours or tucked in near, and it doesn't matter if he remembers some small bedroom in Brooklyn or the battlefields of Western Europe, because you held him close and precious in every one of those godforsaken places. 

"Yes," you say again. 

When he nods and touches his forehead to yours, you tangle your fingers in his hair and close your eyes. 

You always thought your days with him would be endless--long summer nights and crystal-clear winter afternoons--and now you know that through an accident of time and space, they are.


End file.
